Miami Blue
by detectiscribe
Summary: Danger strlkes Horatio as he is called back to his beginnings to help a friend and once again face his past.


MIAMI BLUE

By Jeffrey McGraw

(7/30/2013)

MIAMI:

Once more as he watched the azure blue tide roll into shore, Miami Dade police lieutenant Horatio Caine used the experience to cleanse his palate after another administrative budget hearing.

Yes, they were necessary but H, as he was known, loathed the fact that people were nickel and diming them to death as his crack team of crime scene investigators tried to keep the people of Miami Dade county safe.

The breeze felt good against his skin, ruffling his red hair. He slid his trademark sunglasses off his nose and pinched the bridge as a stop gap against an onrushing headache.

"H? Are you alright?" said Eric Delko, trusted colleague and brother-in-law of Caine's.

"Yes, Eric. I'm fine," said Caine, replacing his sunglasses. "What do you need?"

"Me? Nothing. But there is a visitor for you in reception. Some detective from New York City."

H showed more interest. "New York City. Interesting. Eric, did he say what he wanted?"

"No, I was just passing by and the officer at the desk asked me to tell you," said Eric. "Want me to come with you?"

"No, that won't be necessary. But what you can do is check with the others and see where we are in the Sathern case." A husband's executioner behind a battered spouse defense was headed for acquittal unless Horatio's team could find the evidence to convict.

"I'm on it. I'll call you," said Eric, slowly backing away from his mentor. He waited until the very last minute to turn and walk away.

Caine made the long walk back into the state of the art Miami Dade forensics lab. He took in everything around him behind the glass walls.

Calleigh Duquesne was firing test shots to recover the bullets and match the slugs that the medical examiner had removed from the victim during the autopsy.

CSI Boa Vista was in trace today going over the clothing that the victim was wearing, a set of pajamas with ragged holes right over where the heart would be situated on the wearer. She was checking for GSR, gunshot residue, which if found, might bolster the wife's version of events that she was attacked.

"Eric, look at this. Look at this impression of the gun barrel against the material, an almost perfect circle. Plus there is all of this stippling. Didn't she say that she fired from about four to five feet?"

"She did."

"I'd better tell Horatio." She reached for her cell phone but Eric placed his hand over hers.

"That's not a good idea right now," said Eric.

"Why not?" said Calleigh. She had always been able to run her findings, suppositions and conclusions with Horatio. It was one of the things that made him a great boss. And now she couldn't? "Eric, what gives? Is Horatio alright?"

"Yes, I mean, I don't know. He's got this visitor from New York City, a detective."

"What does he want with Horatio?"

Her colleague shrugged. "I don't know but H did ask me to see how we were all doing with the evidence in this case."

The blonde haired southern bell who was as tough as Seinfeld's Soup Nazi and dripping with charm paused. "Alright. Well, let me know what I can do."

Eric smiled a smile that had once bonded them and still left a glow in Calleigh's heart. They had transitioned into good friends. The blush and heat of their affair had passed them by. Still, what remained was comfortable.

Walter Simmons and Ryan Wolff were interrogating the widow, Nikki Sathern trying to find inconsistencies in her story. Eric nodded and Wolf came out to talk.

"H asked me to see how you were getting on with the widow. Has she slipped?"

"Not yet. Maybe H should take a crack at her," said Wolff.

"Not right now, Wolff. He's got a visitor from New York City," said Eric.

"New York City? Why? Who is it?"

"Don't know if H knows him but he's a NYPD detective."

"What does he went with H? If it had been about a case we've worked on, Horatio would have told us."

Delko agreed. Walter joined the duo in the hall. "Natalie says she's found something that we need to see."

"Horatio, did anyone tell you there's a New York detective waiting for you in reception?" asked Frank Tripp, now sergeant in his tan MDPD road patrol uniform. He missed the plainclothes with the CSI unit but this was a pay raise, a couple of grades and career advancement. He could apply for the detective's exam in two years, maybe transfer to Homicide.

"Yes, Frank, they did tell me. Thank you. I'm on my way there now," said Horatio Caine, obviously with his mind on something else.

Caine spotted the visitor through the glass door into Reception. As always, the visitor looked like a fish out of water. Horatio walked toward him.

"I understand you wanted to see me," he said.

The visitor looked at Caine. H took inventory of his guest. His hair, most of it, had taken flight in the intervening years. The moustache was more gray than not, trimmed with an unsteady hand. The weight once heavy on the 5'10" frame was more evenly distributed and less than H remembered. Their strong suit was that they could still look each other in the eye.

"Hello John," said the visitor.

"Around here, I'm Horatio Caine," said the CSI team leader.

The visitor smiled. "And I'm still Andy Sipowicz from the 15th precinct everywhere."

Caine ignored the humor. "How did you find me?"

"You kept in touch with James. When I got that birthday present for Andy Junior from a Miami boutique, I did a little digging. I'm still a detective, after all."

"That you are, Andy. That you are. Now, what is it that brings you to Miami?" said Caine.

"Is there some place we can talk?"

H pulled out his ever present cellphone and speed dialed Delko. "Eric, I'm going to be tied up for a while. Please keep everyone on point." The phone went away. Horatio Caine gestured toward the front door to show off the charns of his adopted city.

"Natalie, Walter said that you had something that we needed to see," said Eric. Boa Vista was about to speak when Calliegh arrived as the last straggler.

"Sorry, I'm late. What's up?"

"Natalie was just about to tell us."

Natalie smiled her radiance one more time. Beauty though she was, her scientific mind was as sharp as a tack. She stood before a large queen sized mattress up on its side resting against an exterior glass wall.

"We processed the Sathern crime scene and checked for signs of through and through wounds on Chester Sathern?"

Walter spoke. "Yeah, and there were no through and throughs and no GSR on the sheets underneath him. Is this their mattress?"

"Yes. Give me a hand will you, Walter?" Boa Vista grabbed one end of the mattress and let Walter, the size of a college All-American tackle grab the other end. Stiff legged and a bit awkward they turned the mattress around.

"Natalia, there are still no gunshot marks or residue," pointed out Wolf.

"Wait for it," she said and pulled off the sheet to reveal two circular holes in the mattress right where Chester Sathern's chest would have been if he had been laying down at the time of his death.

"Two holes but no blood?" said Eric. "Natalia, what are we looking at?"

"Practice shots," said Calleigh. "She rehearsed walking up to her sleeping hubby and blowing him away. A practice run to give her courage."

"And as far as we know," said Wolff, "there were no other guns in the house."

"And the wife told us she only bought the gun the day of the shooting for protection and that Chester had no idea she was packing," said Walter.

"We'd better tell H," said Wolff.

"We can't," said Eric. "Look, I know this is hard on us but H had a visit from a New York City detective. And before you ask, I have no idea what it is about, but we need to give Horatio his space. If he needs us, he'll let us know."

"So what do we do in the meantime?" said Ryan.

"What H would want us to do, our jobs."

Ryan turned to Walter. "Was that a Joe Friday Jack Webb moment?"

Walter smiled. "I believe it was."

"Jesus, don't they believe in sidewalks down here? I've got enough sand in my shoes to build my own Jersey Shore," said Sipowicz.

"I'll mention it to the Chamber of Commerce," said Caine, smiling at his partner's irritation in spite of himself. "Andy, why did you come here?"

"I need your help, John."

"It's Horatio."

"Sorry, we used to be partners and that partner's name was John Kelly. Pardon me all to hell."

"That was a long time ago."

"The hell it was. One day, you're doing the horizontal mambo with Janice Licalsi. Internal Affairs swoops in. She clams up and gets two years for obstruction of justice."

"I told her not to take the deal. She could have beaten it. Everything was circumstantial. They had no case."

"Yeah, you were a real stand-up guy. The day they drag her off to the hoosegow you disappear. No note, no good-bye, no farewell party. You left Licalsi hung out to dry, John. You left everybody hanging."

"Andy, things aren't always what they seem."

"You turned your back on all of us." Andy stood still. Horatio kept walking then stopped and looked back. "I don't know why I came down here, thinking that you've changed. Good-bye John, or Horatio or H or whatever the hell your name is. Go back to your life."

Sipowicz started stomping away, as much as you could stomp on sand. Caine stayed put.

"Andy?" said Caine then with more force. "Detective Sipowicz."

This made his former partner stop in his tracks. Caine continued.

"You didn't fly 1500 miles down here in coach just to tell me off. So why don't you tell me what this is really all about?"

The glare reached Horatio Caine with lightning speed. H was ready for it. When they first met, it had been hot tempered and withering.

"It's James. He needs your help."

"What kind of help?"

"He's in the crosshairs of the White Hood Brigade."

"Really. The White Hood Brigade. How did that happen?"

Andy Sipowicz paused then walked back toward Horatio.

"James is a sergeant now and teaches at the Academy. One night on his way home, he caught some of the White Hoods getting ready to torch a bodega in his neighborhood. The family had passed it down through five generations. James called it in, then identified himself as a police officer. The suspects scattered except for one nut case that took a couple of shots at Martinez. He returned fire and, well you know how he was on the range."

Horatio smiled and nodded. "And the White Hoods Brigade blames James for shooting one of their own."

"Not just that. The shooter turned out to be the teenaged daughter of the head of the White Hoods. She died on the operating table. My partner, John Clarke took her death bed statement saying that she shot at James because she wanted to prove herself to her father."

Thoughts swirled around inside the head of Horatio Caine. He was quiet. He'd already fought the White Hood Brigade once, on their turf, undercover while Janice was in prison. When she got out, he was still in too deep with them. She drifted away. It was probably for the better but he would never know.

After all, if Janice had stuck around, he would never have met Eric's sister, Marisol. He frowned. The ATF raid that shut down the Brigade had the potential to be more deadly than Waco. It seems that someone had put together the shattered pieces of the Brigade.

Horatio knew how they worked. He was ably suited to help his old friend, James Martinez, but it didn't come without risks.

"Andy, do we have a plan?" said Horatio, once again retrieving his phone.

"Plan? It was all I could do to gather the nerve to come down and ask for your help. By the way, James doesn't know I'm here."

"No worries, my friend. We'll think of one on the plane," said H. His gait picked up speed almost floating over the sand covered beach. Andy's, not so much.

"Eric, I have a situation here and I'm going to be away for a while," said Horatio. He asked Eric to meet him at the airport.

"And you can't tell me what it's about?" said Eric. He was very concerned no matter how much he trusted his boss and in-law.

"Need to know, Eric, need to know."

"What do you need from me, H?"

"I need you to hold the team together while I'm gone," said Horatio.

"Of course. What do I tell them?"

"You tell them I believe in them and in you."

The two were joined by the New York City detective.

"John, er, Horatio, we have to go."

"Understood. Eric, this is Andy Sipowicz. We used to work together in New York, back in the day."

Delko extended his hand. "Eric Delko."

"Pleased to meet you," said Andy. "Horatio?" A nod back toward the Gulfstream charter warming up on the tarmac behind them.

"Andy, Eric here is a colleague and my brother-in-law."

Sipowicz smiled. "Brother-in-law? You mean there is a missus? I'd like to meet her. She must be an angel."

Horatio spoke. "She is.

"My sister, Marisol was gunned down by a drug cartel on their wedding day," said Eric.

The color drained from Andy Sipowicz' face. "I didn't know."

"Not to worry, Andy. Those responsible were brought to justice. Weren't they, Eric?" Delko nodded. "And Eric, Detective Sipowicz lost his second wife in a similar manner."

The Gulfstream revved its engines.

"Eric, we need to go. Stay strong, my friend," said Caine after a meaningful hug with Marisol's brother.

"Via Condios," said Delko.

"Is this where we sing, cumbiya?" said Andy.

Horatio smiled. "More like leaving on a jet plane."

A wave and the pair boarded the Gulfstream and headed north.

Thirty minutes after the Gulfstream reached its preferred altitude and cruising speed, a slender soccer mom type flight attendant came over to them.

"Can I get you gentlemen anything?"

"Water, please," said Horatio. "Andy?"

"Yeah water. I'm still on the wagon. But could I have two, no make that three, bags of those honey roasted peanuts?"

"Of course, sir." She moved off. Andy leaned over to his former partner. "Sylvia would kill me for eating them, too much sugar, too much salt."

"She certainly would be opposed to overindulging. But she always had your best interests at heart," said H.

They were the only two passengers on the Gulfstream other than crew.

"Say, how come we're not flying coach back to New York?"

"Because, my friend, I called in a favor. Someone at ATF owed me so he loaned me the jet they got from impound."

"The Feds gave you this?"

H smiled. "I do have to return it when we're done."

Quiet reigned for the next several minutes. Finally Andy Sipowicz asked the question that had eaten away at him for the last decade plus.

"Why, John?"

"It's complicated. I couldn't live with what IAB did to Janice Licalsi."

"She did whack Angelo Merino," said Andy tearing apart peanut bag number one.

"She was blackmailed into it to save her father's reputation. Marino was scum and you know that."

Sipowicz's meaty hand tossed another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

"No argument there. But you ticked off a lot of people just disappearing like that."

"They couldn't make Janice roll over on me or tell them things she had no knowledge of. The best they could do was get her for obstruction of justice and transfer me out of the squad. And I wasn't going to lay down for them."

"So what happened?"

"I got a knock on my door the next day from the ATF. They offered me a job and I took it."

"Where was it? Siberia?"

"Might as well have been. I was undercover tracking illegal arms sales and ran into a group called the White Hood Brigade."

Andy sat up straighter. The Gulfstream banked right for ten seconds.

"The same jamokes trying to take out Martinez?"

"Not exactly the same because we gathered enough to stage the raid in the Arizona desert at their weapons storage facility."

"I saw that in the _Daily News_. That place used to be run by the Fielder Militia."

"It did. Two years of my life got me to witsec and Horatio Caine was born. I was relocated to Canada where I went back to college and learned forensics. Then I left the program and relocated to Miami.

The honey roasted peanuts were gone and then so was the bottled water.

"What about Licalsi?"

"What about her?"

"She did take the rap for you," said Andy.

Horatio paused. "I told her not to."

"Yeah, you said that. Have you seen her since…"

"No, I haven't. Tell me again, how did you find me?"

"Martinez told me that he saw you at a forensics conference in Boston."

"He did, but I thought it was going to be between us."

"Don't blame him. We were talking about his situation and he said he wished you were there to help. After that, I weaseled the rest out of him."

"And then there was the birthday present from Miami for Andy Junior. I'm sorry about Andy Junior. He was a good man."

A lump developed in Sipowicz's throat.

"Yeah. Did you ever have kids?"

"As a matter of fact I did. I have a son Kyle who was in the military and now is back at Miami Dade Junior College."

"No matter how much you want to protect them, you can't."

"Truer words, my friend. Truer words."

New York

Sipowicz and Caine walked up three flights of stairs in the Manhattan apartment building. Andy knocked on the door to 3B. The door opened.

"Andy, what are you doing here?" said Sergeant James Martinez.

"I brought reinforcements," he said and stepped aside.

"Hello James."

"John," said James.

Horatio continued, "I heard you were in some trouble and came to help."

"Why would you do that after you walked away from us?"

"Fair question, but isn't the right question what are we going to do to keep you and your family safe?" said Horatio Caine who James Martinez only knew as John Kelly.

Martinez turned to Sipowicz. "Andy, you buying any of this?"

"I am or I wouldn't have flown 1500 miles in coach and walked on beaches that don't believe in sidewalks. James, this isn't about Horatio or John or whatever he calls himself. It's about keeping your wife and daughters safe."

"Okay, if it's alright with you."

"It is. Now we have to go meet the others."

Martinez yelled back into the apartment. "Honey, I have to go with Andy. Lock the door and don't let anyone in but me. Be back as soon as I can."

Those signed on to help protect Sergeant James Martinez and his family gathered at the Sipowicz apartment he last shared with Connie McDowell.

Around the table were Detective John Clark, Martinez, Detective Rita Ortiz, Detective Greg Medavoy, Detective Baldwin Jones, Detective Diane Russell and Sipowicz.

"Everybody here?" said Greg Medavoy.

"We're waiting for one more," said Andy. "Thanks for coming all of the way from Syracuse, Greg."

"No problem, Andy. James is family."

"I appreciate that Greg. My wife does too. After this is over, she's going to make the best lasagna dinner ever," said Martinez.

"And she does know how to cook. I'll vouch for that," said Medavoy. He patted his semi soft stomach. "I just have to watch the pounds until after the election."

Baldwin poured his second cup of coffee. "Election?"

A campaign brochure spotlighted Medavoy's smiling face and was handed over to Jones. "Yeah, I'm running for sheriff of Onondaga County."

No one heard the knock on the door except Andy. He opened it and Horatio walked in.

"John Kelly?" said Greg. "I thought you were dead."

Horatio smiled. "I certainly hope this isn't a disappointment."

"Have a seat everyone. Let's get started. John, the people you don't know are Diane Russell, Simone's widow, my old partner John Clark, Detective Rita Ortiz, Greg you know and Detective Baldwin Jones."

Caine and the others exchanged handshakes and nods.

"I know there are some unresolved issues from my previous departure but right now I'm here just like you, to help James in any way I can."

Baldwin spoke. "Andy told us what happened before. Why should we believe you?"

Andy stood. "Because I'm telling you he's okay." Everyone else remained quiet. "Now sit down, please."

Baldwin slowly took his seat.

"Okay, we're all here to get the White Hood Brigade off of Martinez's back. Any suggestions?"

Caine spoke up. "Actually I do have a plan of sorts. In my past law enforcement life I had dealings with the first incarnation of the White Hood Brigade. We were able to break them up because we had an informant on the inside. I was late coming here because I reached out to this informant. They are willing to help us."

"So what's the rest of the plan, John?" said Greg Medavoy as his mind whisked its way back to when they were in the squad room under Lieutenant Arthur Fancy.

"Here is what I propose," said Horatio Caine, briefly wondering how Eric and the rest he'd left behind were faring.

Miami

"Have you heard from Horatio?" said Natalia.

"No. Let's focus," said Eric, pointing to the middle aged housewife now widow seated in the glassed in interview room with her attorney.

Magda Sathern topped off with her highly teased hair at about 5'4". A loose fitting flower print shift hung on her body, deeply tanned with very few curves delineating it. She was wearing sunglasses ostensibly to cover a deeply bruised eye socket that had not yet transitioned to saffron and wouldn't any time soon.

The building's air conditioning was apparently taking the day off. Delko placed chilled water bottles before the widow and lawyer.

"I promise you that they are working diligently to fix the air conditioning. We can take a break whenever you wish," said Eric.

"Hopefully we will not be here that long. Mrs. Sathern has no idea why you are still questioning her. You know the facts. Her husband came at her and she fired two shots into his chest to save her own life. Your evidence must confirm that. This is a classic case of self-defense. So ask your last few questions and let my client go back about rebuilding her shattered life."

Natalia sat down next to Eric. Even her starched white sleeveless blouse couldn't stem the beginnings of perspiration. Wolff would tell her she glowed. Ryan was nice enough but not her type. Eric Delko on the other hand was her type just that he was over the moon about Calleigh Duquesne.

Calleigh was busier building a family with her recent adoption of the boy and girl orphaned from an earlier case.

"Can you explain how two bullet holes got into your mattress beneath your husband?"

"What?" said the wife. She shot an urgent look at her attorney.

"Don't answer that, Magda. She's under no obligation to explain that. Her husband attacked her. Look at her eye. She defended herself pure and simple, open and shut."

"Next thing you'll tell us is that he was wearing a hoodie," said Eric. He placed 8x10 glossies of the crime scene on the table. "We flipped the mattress, found two bullet holes the same caliber as the gun used to kill your husband. As you can see there are no blood stains around the holes."

"So with the slugs matching your gun, how did they get into the mattress?" said Natalia.

"Maybe he found the gun?" said the widow.

"But how could he if you only bought it the day of the shooting? That's what you told us. You said Chester didn't know you had purchased the gun."

"I can't explain it," said the suspect.

"Maybe you took a couple of practice shots?"

"That's crazy. He beat me. Look at this." Magda Sathern jerked her sunglasses off and thrust her bruised face forward. "He did this to me. I'm sorry he's dead but I'm not sorry I'm alive."

Everyone was quiet. Delko stood, left the room and returned with one of their crime scene cameras with dual electronic flash.

"Hold still," he said.

Clicking about a dozen pictures from all different angles, Eric finally stopped.

"What was that all about, officer?" said the attorney.

"I wanted to make sure that we fully documented your client's injuries. It might be able to bolster your case for self-defense, that she was attacked," said Eric. "We'll be back."

Delko touched Natalia's shoulder and they left together.

"Eric, what's this all about?"

He smiled at her. "I think I just found our smoking gun. Let's pull the photos from the crime scene and the ER."

New York

The little all-night diner deep in the Bronx served breakfast twenty four-seven. The man in the tan raincoat slid into a back booth facing away from the front door. His eyes kept watch on the polished metal door before him and used the reflection before him so he wouldn't be surprised. His wait was brief.

"I never thought I'd see you again, Michael," said the woman with cornflower blue eyes, deep red lipstick and a lilac scent that brought back memories for the man of now three names.

"At the time you might have been right, Brenda. It's good to see you," said Horatio, known to this woman as Michael Hayes.

"What happened to you? We thought you got away when they raided the desert armory in Arizona," said Brenda.

"No, I was arrested and they locked me up and threw away the key," said Caine, playing the part of arms dealer from the woman's past. "Seven years because I wouldn't name names. If they could have tied me to overseas sales, I would have had a Cuban address."

They both ordered coffee from a gut heavy short order cook in a grease stained white apron. Once it arrived, the conversation continued.

"So what? Are you on parole now?"

"Yes, but I came here to help once I saw you and your husband were in trouble." A pause intervened. Brenda kept quiet. "I'm sorry you lost your daughter."

"She was only 17, Michael. She wanted to show her father that she believed in our cause, that she'd earned the right to wear the White Hood of the Brigade. And that scumbag cop shot her down in cold blood right in the street."

"I heard the cop said she fired first."

"So what if she did? This is war, Michael. Now we're going to kill that cop and his entire family."

"I want in. When?"

Brenda looked at him with skeptical eyes. "I don't know if my husband will take you back. He's almost paranoid these days."

"He would if you put in a good word for me."

"And why would I do that?"

Horatio Caine pushed the envelope by covering her hands with his. "Why don't we call it, for old times' sake?"

He smiled. Her hands stayed put.

Miami

A uniformed Frank Tripp entered the interview room housing Magda Sathern and her attorney. Eric and Natalia followed. Frank took up station on the opposite side of the table. Eric placed a thick folder of photographs on the table between them.

"Well officers, what did you find? Can we go now?"

Delko ignored the request. "Mrs. Sathern, that's a lovely ring you have. Might I see it?"

The suspect looked at her lawyer. He shrugged. She removed it and placed it in Natalia's open palm.

"It is lovely," said the crime scene investigator. "Ooh, there seems to be some blood on it. I'll go clean it and bring it right back."

"Wait!" said Magda. "That's my ring and I want it back."

Eric Delko slid a valid search warrant over to the lawyer. He scanned it and frowned. "Why?"

"In looking at the photos we took of your client's injuries at the ER and now today, I can see there is a definite ring imprint within the bruise on her cheek."

"So?"

"So if your blood and tissue are on your wedding ring, then it tells us your wound was self-inflicted. Add that to the practice shots in the mattress and the GSR on your husband's clothes which meant that you fired with the gun pressed against his chest, probably while he was asleep in bed and all of this starts to poke holes in your justifiable homicide defense."

"That's absurd," said Magda, rising to leave but bumping into Frank Tripp who produced handcuffs and a deft way of applying them.

Natalia leaned over to Erick. "Good work, Delko. We should call Horatio."

"I wish we could."

New York

Twenty-four hours passed. The dampness of the night glistened against the asphalt streets. Horatio looked at his watch.

"James should be here any minute. Are we ready?" said Horatio, remembering New York's scent but still missing the beat of Miami.

"Don't worry about me, Kelly. I'm locked and loaded. You just do your part."

"I will. There's the signal. Here we go." Caine noticed the flashlight signal from Greg Medavoy across the street. He signaled back. Greg would now move in to provide armed back up if it was needed. "It's show time."

James Martinez appeared around the corner walking purposefully toward his apartment building. No hint if he was aware of being followed. James went up the stairs and into the building. No sooner had the door closed after him when a black panel van hurried in from the same direction.

It slammed on the brakes entering the alley where Caine and his partner stood. The partner towered over Caine, maybe he might even be taller than Walter, and cradled his Mossburg Pump shotgun in hands encased in black leather gloves. His head was sheathed in the symbol of the White Hood Brigade. If its history weren't so stained with blood and violent intolerance, it might even pass for a Marvel superhero mask and a film franchise.

People exited the van. Four plus the driver who stayed behind the wheel. She wore no hood.

"Brenda, what are you doing here?" said Caine. He clearly had not expected her presence.

"I'm here to support my husband and avenge my daughter," she said with a dead man walking edge to her voice.

The lead man raised his hood. "Kelly, let's get to it. It was against my better judgment to include you, but Brenda talked me into it. Who's that, your pet bodyguard?"

"A friend. Your plan is we watch your back. He watches mine. Don't worry. He's a true believer."

"References?" said the leader.

"You could ask the Taliban, but oops, they're dead. Time is passing us by. Are you going to avenge your family or not?"

The leader recovered his face. "We're up the stairs first. No getting trapped on elevators. We kick in the cop's door and spray retribution everywhere. Kelly, you and GI Joe here discourage anyone who wishes to discourage us. Questions?"

"None," said Horatio.

With that, the well-armed home invasion team went to work. The four men led by the grieving father rumbled up the stairs. Horatio and his associate followed them but kept a little distance. Both wore hoods.

Caine slipped a hand into his pocket and hit an app on his smartphone then used that same hand to chamber a round into his Sig Sauer. The third floor and the Martinez apartment were straight ahead.

White Hoods flanked both sides of the door. A nod and the apartment door was kicked in. The hoods rushed forward. Horatio and his colleague followed quickly, brandishing their weapons. No shots were fired.

"Freeze, police. Drop your weapons and raise your hands!"

Arrayed before the home invaders was fire power much greater than what they had brought. At least a dozen cops, plainclothes and uniformed, in vests and SWAT gear.

The man next to Caine pointed the Mossberg at the Miami lieutenant. "Get the hood off!"

When Horatio didn't comply, Andy did the honors for him. "Well look here, it's the ever popular arms dealer, Michael Hayes. Thought you might have learned your lesson. James, cuff him and turn him over to the feds."

Martinez moved forward and ziptied his former colleague's hands behind his back.

The last remaining hood spoke. "There's a van in the alley with a getaway driver."

"Relax. We've got her in custody. This isn't our first rodeo, you know. And get that striped hood off. It makes you look like you're auditioning for _Let's Make A Deal_."

The hood came off and Baldwin Jones smiled. "Didn't think I fit their membership requirements."

Andy sidled over to the Brigade leader. "Guess they aren't as lazy as you thought. Sucks to be you," said Andy. "Okay, Ortiz and Clark start reading these lowlifes their rights."

Martinez and a restrained Horatio Caine exited the building as Medavoy and Diane Russell were mirandizing Brenda. Caine was put in the back of a squad car.

"John, I can't thank you enough."

"No need, James. It's what family does for each other. Be safe, my friend."

James straightened up, slammed the car door shut and slapped the roof twice. "Get this scum out of here."

Lights and sirens were activated. Nothing was too good for family.

Andy Sipowicz walked over to Horatio Caine in the charter terminal.

"I checked your bags through."

"Thank you. I have a gift for you." He handed the surprised detective a rectangular box. "For the next time you come down to my neck of the woods."

Andy frowned. "This better not be sunscreen. I broil like a lobster with my fair skin." The box revealed a pair of leather, open toed sandals. Sipowicz smiled. He reached into his pocket and gave Caine a designer pair of sunglasses which the Florida cop put on.

"They fit perfectly," said H. The pilot from the Gulfstream said there'd be a forty-five minute delay for headwinds. Still, Caine could board if he wanted to.

"Now that you've got a few minutes, there's someone wants to say hello," said Andy. "Right in the V.I.P. lounge over there. Look, I've got to get back. Safe trip, John, H, or Horatio? What the hell do I call you?"

"I hope you'll call me friend."

Andy smiled and nodded. "I can do that. Bye." As Andy Sipowicz left the terminal he gestured toward the lounge. Caine walked over and pushed in the padded door.

At the far end of the stainless steel and vinyl padded terminal lounge stood Janice Licalsi. They stared at each other for a long minute.

"Don't blame, Andy. I asked him to set this up," said Caine's former flame. "Got time for a cup of coffee?"

Horatio Caine smiled. "Janice, for you I will make the time."

The End


End file.
